Penelopes English Experiences | Page 3

copy of the etext in its original plain ASCII form
(or in EBCDIC or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this "Small
Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the net profits
you derive calculated using the method you already use to calculate
your applicable taxes. If you don't derive profits, no royalty is due.
Royalties are payable to "Project Gutenberg
Association/Carnegie-Mellon University" within the 60 days following
each date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) your annual
(or equivalent periodic) tax return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU
DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, scanning
machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty free copyright
licenses, and every other sort of contribution you can think of. Money
should be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association / Carnegie-Mellon
University".
*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN
ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

This etext was prepared by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.

Penelope's English Experiences being extracts from the commonplace
book of Penelope Hamilton by Kate Douglas Wiggin.

To my Boston friend Salemina.
No Anglomaniac, but a true Briton.

Contents.

Part First--In Town.
I. The weekly bill. II. The powdered footman smiles. III. Eggs a la
coque. IV. The English sense of humour. V. A Hyde Park Sunday. VI.
The English Park Lover. VII. A ducal tea-party. VIII. Tuppenny travels
in London. IX. A Table of Kindred and Affinity. X. Apropos of
advertisements. XI. The ball on the opposite side. XII. Patricia makes
her debut. XIII. A Penelope secret. XIV. Love and lavender.
Part Second--In the Country.
XV. Penelope dreams. XVI. The decay of Romance. XVII. Short stops
and long bills. XVIII. I meet Mrs. Bobby. XIX. The heart of the artist.
XX. A canticle to Jane. XXI. I remember, I remember. XXII. Comfort
Cottage. XXIII. Tea served here. XXIV. An unlicensed victualler.
XXV. Et ego in Arcadia vixit.

Part First--In Town.
Chapter I.
The weekly bill.

Smith's Hotel, 10 Dovermarle Street.
Here we are in London again,--Francesca, Salemina, and I. Salemina is
a philanthropist of the Boston philanthropists limited. I am an artist.
Francesca is- It is very difficult to label Francesca. She is, at her present
stage of development, just a nice girl; that is about all: the sense of
humanity hasn't dawned upon her yet; she is even unaware that
personal responsibility for the universe has come into vogue, and so she
is happy.
Francesca is short of twenty years old, Salemina short of forty, I short
of thirty. Francesca is in love, Salemina never has been in love, I never

shall be in love. Francesca is rich, Salemina is well-to-do, I am poor.
There we are in a nutshell.
We are not only in London again, but we are again in Smith's private
hotel; one of those deliciously comfortable and ensnaring hostelries in
Mayfair which one enters as a solvent human being, and which one
leaves as a bankrupt, no matter what may be the number of ciphers on
one's letter of credit; since the greater one's apparent supply of wealth,
the greater the demand made upon it. I never stop long in London
without determining to give up my art for a private hotel. There must
be millions in it, but I fear I lack some of the essential qualifications for
success. I never could have the heart, for example, to charge a
struggling young genius eight shillings a week for two candles, and
then eight shillings the next week for the same two candles, which the
struggling young genius, by dint of vigorous economy, had managed to
preserve to a decent height. No, I could never do it, not even if I were
certain that she would squander the sixteen shillings in Bond Street
fripperies instead of laying them up against the rainy day.
It is Salemina who always unsnarls the weekly bill. Francesca spends
an evening or two with it, first of all, because, since she is so young, we
think it good mental-training for her, and not that she ever
accomplishes any results worth mentioning. She begins by making
three columns headed respectively F., S., and P. These initials stand for
Francesca, Salemina, and Penelope, but they resemble the signs for
pounds, shillings, and pence so perilously that they introduce an added
distraction.
She then places in each column the items in which we are all equal,
such as rooms, attendance, fires, and lights. Then come the extras,
which are different for each person: more ale for one, more hot baths
for another; more carriages for one, more lemon squashes for another.
Francesca's column is principally filled with carriages and lemon
squashes. You would fancy her whole time was spent in driving